


Just Because You Can

by Skarabrae_stone



Series: The Jolene Series [1]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Captain America: The First Avenger, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, a very small amount of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 13:33:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17060723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skarabrae_stone/pseuds/Skarabrae_stone
Summary: “So I just—if you, if this is a game for you, if you’re not serious about him, then please, for the love of God, cut it off now, before he gets his heart broke. Just—make up your mind now, before it goes too far.”Bucky tries to have a talk with Peggy about Steve. It goes about as well as you'd expect.





	1. You Don't Know What He Means to Me

**Author's Note:**

> This is all [Emillia Gryphon's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmilliaGryphon) fault, as usual. :D  
> We got talking about the song "Jolene", headcanoned it as being Bucky talking to Peggy, and this happened.

_He talks about you in his sleep_   
_There's nothing I can do to keep_   
_From crying when he calls your name, Jolene_   
_And I can easily understand_   
_How you could easily take my man_   
_But you don't know what he means to me, Jolene_

_\--"Jolene", by Dolly Parton_

 

“Carter.”

Peggy turns, eyebrows raised, to see Sergeant Barnes standing in the hallway behind her, hands shoved in the pockets of a ragged woolen overcoat. God knows where he found it—it’s certainly not standard issue.

“Sergeant?” she says coolly. There’s no love lost between the two of them, despite Steve’s best efforts. Peggy’s seen too many swaggering, sweet-talking boys in her life to have any use for another one, and Barnes—well, Barnes may flirt almost as constantly as he breathes, but she’s seen the resentment in his eyes when he looks at her. She’s not sure whether he just didn’t take well to being turned down—or rather, ignored—or if it’s something else.

That resentment is there now, despite his polite tone and the smile that looks stiff and unnatural on his hollow face. “Could I talk to you for a moment? In private?”

She gestures at the empty hallway, and his smile goes a little crooked.

“More private than here,” he says.

“Sergeant, I do have rather a lot to do—”

“Agent Carter,” he interrupts, and for a moment, the smile slips, giving way to something more vulnerable, almost desperate. “Please. Just—a couple of minutes. It’s about Steve,” he adds, and in the end, that’s what decides her.

God help her, but she cares for that stubborn idiot, and Barnes, whatever the rest of his many faults, obviously does too.

“Very well,” she says. “Outside, then.”

He nods, and follows her out of the building, into the muddy alley behind it. There’s no one here to hear them, a fact which makes her ever-so-slightly nervous. Not that she isn’t more than capable of defending herself, just… Barnes scares her a little, sometimes. He gets this dead-eyed look, especially when Steve’s not about, a thousand-yard stare that she’s seen on plenty of men before. It never bodes well. She can’t get a read on him, either, not the way she can with most men—he’s built thick walls around himself, and she doesn’t think even Steve can see all the way past them.

She leans against the brickwork, arms folded, trying to behave cool and calm and in control. Luckily, she’s had a lot of practice. “Well?”

Now that they’re out here, Barnes seems to be at something of a loss. He hunches his shoulders, scuffing the ground with the toe of his boot, eyes darting between her and the ground and, worryingly, the mouth of the alleyway.

“Barnes,” she says warningly, and he jerks a little, as if startled.

“Sorry,” he says, and makes an obvious effort to relax, falling into a casual slouch with one hand still in his pocket. There’s another long pause.

“You said you needed to talk to me about Steve,” she reminds him tartly. She doesn’t want to be out here all day.

“Yeah,” says Barnes, rallying. “Yeah, I… Look, Carter, I just… you and Steve, I know you’re—”

“How Steve and I feel about each other is none of your business, Barnes,” she interrupts.

“But it is,” he says softly. He takes a breath, and makes an effort, it seems, to meet her eyes. “Listen, Carter… Steve, he’s… he's not like no one else, understand? I don’t mean the serum, I mean— _him_ , his—who he is, he’s different.”

“I know that.”

“I know you know, I just—” He exhales, looking frustrated. “Look, Steve’s not the kind to play around, alright? Once he’s decided on something, that’s it. And if he—if he falls in love with you, there ain’t gonna be no turning back, not for him.” He swallows, hard.

“So I just—if you, if this is a game for you, if you’re not serious about him, then please, for the love of God, cut it off now, before he gets his heart broke. Just—make up your mind now, before it goes too far.”

This is perhaps one of the most extraordinary things anyone’s ever said to her, and Peggy has been in a lot of bizarre situations during her time with the SSR. There is something very odd about this situation, about Barnes; she can almost taste the answer to this whole puzzle, buzzing in the back of her mind where she can’t quite reach it.

“Are you trying to scare me away from him, Barnes?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “No, I—I just. I’m asking you not to break his heart, Carter. That’s all.”

She stares at him for a long moment, the answer getting closer and closer; she just needs a few more pieces, a couple more clues, and she’ll have it….

“Why?” she asks. “Surely he doesn’t need _you_ to protect his heart.”

Barnes shoots her a look of pure loathing, there and gone so quickly that someone less observant than Peggy might have missed it altogether. “Because he won’t look after himself,” he says. “He’ll just run in headlong, like he always does, and—and he doesn’t, he ain’t ever had much luck with dames—with the ladies, and he won’t—he _won’t_ be careful of himself, and so—”

“And so you are careful for him,” she finishes. She eyes him closely. “You take great care of him, don’t you, Sergeant?”

He looks up, face pale. “’Course I do,” he says hoarsely. “I’m his best friend, aren’t I?”

He’s _scared_ , she realizes, fascinated. Scared of her, maybe, or scared of what she’ll do…. She’s so close now, so close, the answer almost within her grasp. “I’m not planning to break his heart,” she says quietly. “I’m certainly not planning to deceive him as to my feelings. But that’s not all that worries you, is it, Sergeant?” She takes a step closer, noticing how he stiffens, the way his hand flexes as though longing to make a fist.

“You’re worried I’ll take him from you—that you’ll lose him.”

His breathing picks up, ragged, his eyes wide and frightened, but he says nothing, and now she can finally see it, the last piece locking in with the others.

“You’re in love with him.” It’s not a question, not even a guess, not really; it’s as though she’s always known it, but only this moment found the right words to express it.

He shakes his head mutely, but his expression gives him away—it’s sheer panic, and she wonders what he’s more afraid of, being thrown out of the Army or Steve finding out, or her using it as some kind of leverage against him.

“How long?” she asks.

She doesn’t really expect him to answer, but after a moment, he seems to cave in on himself, shoulders slumping, eyes falling to his boots.

“Forever,” he says hoarsely. “Always.”

“And he doesn’t know?”

He shakes his head.

“Why didn’t you tell him?”

“What are you, nuts?” He laughs, an ugly, heartbroken sound. “The minute I told him, he’d be gone for good. Or—or pity me, and that’s worse.” He draws a shuddering breath. “It’s enough, just being his friend—or it was, until you came along.”

She doesn’t want to sympathize with him, not when this will complicate everything, when it could ruin the relationship she’s begun to build with Steve—but it’s hard not to, especially when she can see it so clearly. Barnes, always there, always at Steve’s side, his best friend and constant shadow, hoarding the scraps of Steve’s generous affection, always afraid of losing him if he went too far. She can see herself in his eyes, the interloper, stealing the love and attention that Barnes so desperately wanted, and Steve, oblivious, leaving Barnes further and further behind…

“No wonder you hate me,” she says.

Barnes’s mouth twists into that not-smile of his, wry and unhappy. “I don’t,” he says. “I wish I could. It’d be easier.”

“I can relate.”

He bites his lip—he has _very_ nice lips, she notices, and then wishes she hadn’t. It isn’t helpful. “So. You gonna report me?”

“No, of course not.”

“But you’ll tell Steve.”

“Don’t you think he deserves to know?”

He looks at her for a long moment, his face pale and anguished, his defensive walls shattered like houses after a Luftwaffe raid. When he speaks, his voice is strained; she’s seen men with bullet wounds who looked to be in less agony than he is right now.“I guess that’s up to you, now.”

“Barnes—”

“Take care of him, Carter,” he says. “He won’t—I don’t expect he’ll want me to, after this.”

And before she can think of anything else to say, he offers her a sloppy salute—careless, except that she can see his hand shaking—and strides away.

 

 

_You idiot, you idiot, you fucking moron. What the_ hell _were you thinking?_ Bucky berates himself. _So what if Steve got his fool heart broken, so what if he and Carter fall in love and get married and have a million little babies? So-fucking what? At least you’d still have a_ friend _—now you’ve gone and ruined everything._

He fumbles a cigarette out of his pocket, clenches it between his teeth while he strikes a match against the sole of his boot.

_You fucking numbskull, Barnes. You just had to make it worse, didn’t you? Couldn’t mind your own fucking business for one_ fucking _second—_

The match blazes to life, and he lights the cigarette with trembling fingers.

The awful thing is, he knew it was a stupid idea from the start. He’d _known_ it was a bad idea to have anything to do with Carter—but he’d done it anyway. Five minutes with her, and he’s blurting out his deepest secret like a goddamn greenhorn rookie. Five minutes, and he’d ruined everything.

He’d told himself it was for Steve—that he had to take care of Stevie, make sure she wasn’t just playing with him, protect his best pal’s interests. But it wasn’t true, or rather, it was only part of the truth.

“Fuck,” he groans aloud, and takes a long drag on the cigarette. He can’t go back to the tent he’s sharing with Steve, set up just outside the village with the rest of the squad. Steve’ll take one look at his face and know something’s wrong, and he won’t quit badgering him about it until he gets an answer. And fuck, but as rattled as he is right now, Bucky might just tell him.

He lets his head fall back against the trunk of the tree he’s chosen to sulk under, staring up between the leafless branches at the heartless blue sky. He should never have tried to talk to Carter, should have known it would only make things worse, but… well.

Steve and Carter have been dancing around this thing between them for at least four or five months now, ever since that night in the pub in London. They’re not together very often—the Howlies are getting sent all over the map, and Carter’s usually off doing whatever it is that spies do—but when they are, there’s all these little looks and gestures and things half-said, the two of them circling each other like moons in orbit. It’s driving him crazy.

He’s jittery now, always feels like he’s crawling out of his own skin, restless and short-tempered and skittish as a stray cat; the only time he’s calm is in the middle of a fight, or when he’s behind the scope of his rifle. Then, everything is easy; he makes his shots, picks his targets, watches Steve’s back, and everything is cold and clear and precise. It can’t be right, can’t mean anything good, and he doesn’t understand—doesn’t understand why he’s still dreaming of needles, months later, why his head feels like it’s constantly buzzing with anxious, useless thoughts, his body shaking with adrenaline—why even a damn cigarette can’t calm him down like it used to, can’t slow down his racing heart and mind.

He’s jittery, now, and impatient, and he couldn’t stand the suspense—not knowing whether Steve and Carter would—date, or fuck, or whatever, whether Bucky would be left behind.

He blows out a cloud of smoke, watching it dissipate into nothingness as he inhales again.

_You dumb fuck_ , he thinks, _you knew this would happen—you always knew it would end this way._

And perhaps that’s the stupid, painful truth—that he wanted Carter to end this some way, to make a move, to either ditch Steve or claim him for herself. He’d thought anything would be better than being in limbo, but he’d never planned on _this._

He’s going to lose his best friend, the man he loves more deeply than anyone he’s ever known, all because he couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut.

The awful thing is, if Steve just knew he was queer, it probably wouldn’t be the end of the world. Steve is generally a pretty accepting guy, and he might have some trouble with the idea at first, but in the end, he’d probably be okay with it.

Being queer _and_ being in love with him—well, that’s another story.

He doesn’t think Steve’ll be angry—at least, not much. Well, he’ll probably be mad that he talked to Carter, but he’ll get over that. No, Steve won’t be angry—he’ll be uncomfortable, and that’s so much worse.

Everything Bucky says, everything he does, will be tainted, now. He won’t be able to sling an arm around Steve’s too-broad shoulders, or stay up late talking to him, or trade a mug of coffee back and forth, sipping from opposite sides of the cup. Steve won’t want him bunking in the same tent anymore, and if the other guys find out he’s queer, the rest of them won’t want him around, either. There’ll be no more friendly ribbing or heartfelt conversations, no more of the casual little touches and smiles that Bucky hoards like gold.

For the first time in his life, Bucky will be truly, completely, alone.


	2. Whatever You Decide to Do

_You could have your choice of men_  
_But I could never love again_  
_He's the only one for me, Jolene_  
_I had to have this talk with you_  
_My happiness depends on you_  
_And whatever you decide to do, Jolene_

_\--"Jolene", Dolly Parton_

Peggy waits until the next day to find Steve, partly because she really is very busy, and mostly because she has no idea what to say to him.

If it were anyone but Barnes, if it were anyone but _Steve_ , she would leave well enough alone. But, well, it _is_ them, and she can’t.

She doesn’t know if she’s _in love_ with Steve; at least, not the kind of love that leads to marriage and family and happily-ever-afters. She likes him, admires him, even, and cares about him deeply; she thinks that, given half a chance, she _could_ fall in love with him very easily. For all she’s tried to guard her heart against any and all comers, Steve, with his strange combination of compassion and stubbornness, optimism and anger, has somehow wormed his way in. She doesn’t want to lose him—not to another woman, not to death, and certainly not to Barnes.

 _Perhaps I’m a little closer to love than I thought_ , she muses, because she tries to be honest with herself about these things, especially since she spends so much time lying to everyone else.

She doesn’t want to let go of Steve, but she also knows that losing Barnes would tear him apart. If she’s to have any chance with him at all, she can’t be the cause of their rupture. And if Steve returns Barnes’s feelings, if she’s been some sort of—cover for him—

 _No_ , she thinks, stabbing her curls rather viciously with a hairpin. _Steve wouldn’t do that. He_ wouldn’t.

 _Not on purpose_ , says a nasty voice in the back of her mind. _But what if he just hasn’t realized…?_

 _You shut up,_ she tells it, and jams her hat onto her head. _I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it._

Steve is alone in his tent when she gets there, which is a relief—she hadn’t wanted to deal with Barnes’s tragic face if she had to kick him out.

“Peggy!” he says, and the way his face lights up, eyes sparkling, makes her feel both relieved and guilty. “How are you? Are you—shall I—do you want to sit down?”

“I hope I’m not interrupting—”

“No, no, of course not! I was just—reports, you know, nothing urgent—” He gestures at the thick sheaf of papers on the little folding table that serves him as a desk when the team is someplace halfway civilized, then pushes his folding chair at her. “Please, sit down.”

She takes the offered chair, and waits until he’s seated on his cot before saying, “How is the break treating you?”

Steve makes a face. “Is it terrible if I say I’d rather be back in the field?”

“Perhaps—but not particularly unexpected.”

“It’s not that we don’t need the downtime—it’s just that, y’know, if we’re gonna have downtime, it’d be nice to have it somewhere there’s something to _do_ ,” he says irritably.

She can’t help but smile at that. “Aren’t you supposed to make your own entertainment?”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he says drily. “Monty dared Morita to jump in the duck pond this morning, Jones went off to cook up some kind of super transmitter with Stark, and Dernier and Dugan went someplace in quest of alcohol and explosives, and knowing them, they’ll try to combine the two.”

“Whereas if we were someplace larger, they might find… other outlets?” she suggests delicately.

Steve snorts. “Yeah, if this town had a brothel or two, I wouldn’t be half so worried about them,” he says wryly. “The things they don’t tell you about command…”

“And what about Barnes?” she asks, deciding this is as good a segue as she’s going to get.

Steve’s eyes widen a little. “Oh, Lord,” he says. “Is that what he’s been acting like a wet cat over lately? Did you two have a fight?”

She forgets, sometimes, how quick on the uptake he is. Most of the time it’s one of the things she appreciates about him; today, she finds herself wishing he were a little slower.

“In a manner of speaking,” she says slowly. “I wouldn’t say we quarreled, exactly, but we did have—a discussion.”

“A difference of opinion?” he suggests.

“Not… as such.” She takes a breath. “Steve… what exactly is your relationship with him?”

Steve stills, his face closing off, and her heart sinks. His voice is perfectly even, which in itself is a giveaway. “We’re friends. Best friends. You know that, Pegs.”

She looks him in the eyes, trying not to show how much she’s dreading the answer to her next question. “Is that all?”

There’s a very long moment where he simply looks at her, face still as stone. She knows he’s thinking what to say—and if he has to think of what to say, if the answer isn’t a simple “no”, then—then—

“We’re not a—couple, if that’s what you mean,” he says.

“But you want to be.”

“Peggy—”

“Steve.”

He breaks off. His face is still stiff, expressionless, but his hands give him away, clenching and unclenching on his thighs.

For the second time in as many days, she asks, “Are you in love with him?”

He gets up and walks away, to the other side of the tent, and stands there with his back to her. It’s answer enough, but after a moment, he says stiffly, deliberately, “Yes.”

And God, but it shouldn’t hurt the way it does. It shouldn’t make her throat close up and her heart ache and her stomach clench, but she can’t seem to help it. She stubbornly refuses to cry, holding onto her pride as well as she can, and draws herself up straight.

“I see.” She swallows. “You needn’t worry, Steve—I shan’t tell anyone.” A quick breath, _not_ a sob, because she _will not_ cry in front of him, not about this, not when there are so many other more important things to focus on. This is just a—a blip; it doesn’t _matter._ “I had thought that we—that there was something between us, but clearly I was mistaken.”

He turns at that, and his face is open once more, some odd mixture of hope and fear playing across his features that she can’t quite understand. “Pegs—”

“I’d better go.”

“Peggy, wait, listen—”

She can _feel_ the tears threatening to spill, and she refuses to let him see her lose control like this. “Steve, I really don’t have time for whatever explanation—

“ _Peggy_ ,” he interrupts, and there’s something in his voice that makes her stop. “Peggy, listen—we didn’t misunderstand. Or at least, I’m hoping I didn’t. I don’t think you did. I mean—”

“I don’t understand you,” she says, as coldly as she can.

“I know,” says Steve ruefully. “I’m not—good at this.” He takes a deep breath, exhales. “Listen,” he repeats. “I’m—we’ve been—flirting, right?”

“Steve—”

“You can tell me I’m wrong,” he barrels on. “If I’ve been—if I misunderstood—God knows I’m not good at this sort of thing, but—I thought you seemed—interested. In me. Romantically, I mean.”

For a moment, she considers denying it, just to spite him, just to save her wounded pride—but other revelations take precedence. “Do you mean to say you’ve been leading me on _on purpose_?”

“No! No, that’s not what I meant at all, I—I meant it, Peggy, I’m—”

“You’re...?”

He blushes. “I’m—attracted to you.”

“Attracted to me,” she repeats flatly.

He hunches his shoulders, as though trying to make himself smaller. “Well, more like... in love with you.”

“In love?” she repeats incredulously. “What about Barnes?”

He shrugs, raising his hands in a what-can-you-do sort of gesture. “Him, too.”

“At the same time?”

He nods.

“But you _can’t_ be.”

Steve immediately gets the mulish set to his mouth that always means trouble. “I _am_ , though. I love Bucky, and I—I love you, too. I’ve been falling for you since you punched Hodges in Basic.”

“I don’t want to be your second choice, Steve.”

“You’re _not_ ,” he says, clearly frustrated. “Peggy, you’re _amazing_ , and I—I’d want you, I’d be interested, no matter _how_ I felt about Bucky, even if he wanted me—”

Her expression must shift at that, because he breaks off abruptly.

“Peggy?”

 _Just get it over with_ , she tells herself bitterly. _Barnes can hardly fault you for telling him now—and at least_ someone _ought to get what they want out of this._

“He does,” she says quietly. “That’s what—yesterday, he talked to me, and…”

“He told you?”

“I guessed. He confirmed it.”

Steve collapses onto his cot, thunderstruck. “He—Mother of God, really?”

“Really,” she says, and almost manages her usual brisk tone. “So you see why this isn’t—it’s not a hypothetical, Steve. And I really—I’m not willing to be in—second place, as it were.”

He makes an obvious effort to pull himself together, though he still looks bewildered. “Peggy, you could _never_ be in second place.”

“But Barnes—”

“Can’t I love both of you?” he asks softly. “If I had a brother and a sister, I’d be expected to love them both. Why not you and Bucky?”

The problem with Steve’s logic, she reflects, is that it’s very hard to argue with, even when everything he’s saying is obviously madness.

“I don’t know,” she says finally. “I don’t know, Steve. Ask Barnes, maybe he can tell you.”

Steve nods, apparently taking her words at face value. “I’ll talk to Bucky. But, Peg—can you trust me? Trust me, that I know how I feel—that I’m serious about you—about us?”

“I—” She hesitates, and makes the mistake of looking into his eyes. The expression there makes her nearly weak at the knees. “Oh, for God’s sake, Steve. Alright, yes, I trust you. I—if you, if we can make this work—I’d like it to work.”

“I think we can,” he says.

“Yes, but unfortunately, you’re an idiot, so I’m reserving judgement until you’ve sorted things out with Barnes.” She stands, brushing off her trousers out of habit, and he scrambles to his feet as well. “I’ll see you later, Steve.”

“I’ll come find you tonight,” he says.

“Alright.”

“And, Peggy, I—”

“Don’t, Steve.”

He gives her a wounded expression, and she sighs.

“Just… don’t make promises you can’t keep. Please. I can’t… I can’t stand it.”

“I won’t, then.” He gives her a somewhat tentative smile, then raises a hand to brush a wayward curl from her forehead.

It takes all her willpower not to shiver at his touch.

“Bye, Peggy.”

She steps backwards, mostly because she wants so badly to throw herself into his arms and beg him not to let her go.

“Tonight,” she reminds him.

She can’t remember, now, exactly how she had thought this conversation would go, but this certainly isn’t it.

 

Bucky waits as long as possible before heading back to the tent, because he’s pretty sure Carter will have gotten to Steve by now, and he really, really doesn’t want to have the conversation he knows they’re about to have. Finally, though, he’s run out of excuses to stay away; he doesn’t have any money for the pub, and he’s not in the mood to join in with whatever shit the Howlies have come up with to do now (at the moment, attempting to hotwire Stark’s specially-modified jeep, though for what purpose he doesn’t even want to know).

Sure enough, when he enters the tent, Steve is waiting for him, sitting on the edge of his cot with a lamp lit like he’s about to give him a scolding for coming in after curfew.

“Waiting up for me?” Bucky asks, trying to make a joke of it, but it just comes out tired. He’s so goddamned tired.

“Yeah, actually.” Steve clears his throat, looking uncomfortable, and Bucky’s heart sinks. Carter’s gotten to him, for sure. “I was wondering if we could—talk?”

Bucky sits down heavily on his cot. “You talked to Carter, huh.”

“Yeah, actually, I did.” Steve looks down, fiddling with a hole in the wool blanket on the bed. “She said—she implied—”

“I know what she said,” Bucky interrupts, voice harsh. “I know, okay.”

“Is it true?” He sounds so unsure, lost and heartbroken, and Bucky wants to cry.

He tilts his head back to stare at the canvas ceiling, avoiding Steve’s gaze. “Yeah,” he says hoarsely. “It’s true.”

There’s a long silence.

“I thought you liked girls,” Steve says at last, and it’s such a stupid, such a _Steve_ thing to say that Bucky almost laughs.

“I do,” he says. “I just—I always liked you better.”

“Oh,” says Steve, in a small voice.

Bucky chances a look at him; his head is still bent, fingers plucking at that damned hole in the blanket and making it bigger every second. With the lamplight shining on his blonde hair, he looks like a painting—looks like everything pure and innocent and perfect in the world, though Bucky knows better than anyone that he’s not any of those things. Knowing him, he’s worrying—worrying about how to let Bucky down gently, or about how to act now that he knows this terrible secret. In a way, it’s worse than if he yelled.

Bucky’s used to Steve yelling. It’s despondency that he can’t handle.

He has to force his words past the lump in his throat. “It’s okay, Steve. You don’t gotta—you don’t gotta worry about it. I’ll—I’ll move my stuff out, first thing tomorrow. I can switch out with Dernier, or, or ask for my own tent, we can give whatever excuses you like, I—I won’t hold it against you.”

Steve sits up so quickly that Bucky flinches. “What? No, Buck—”

“I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable,” Bucky insists. “I—I can keep a lid on it, I promise I can, I’ll stay away from you if you’d rather, just—”

“Bucky, stop.” It’s his Commanding Officer voice, and Bucky shuts up immediately—a Pavlovian response he’s not particularly proud of.

Steve leans forward, all earnestness and big blue eyes. “Bucky, listen, I—it’s not gonna make me uncomfortable.”

“You say that now, but—”

“Will you shut up? I’m trying to tell you something here.” He takes a breath. “Listen, Bucky, I—it’s not a problem, because I feel—the same way. About you.”

Bucky just stares at him, speechless, because he can’t, he _can’t_ mean what it sounds like he means—surely—

Steve’s blush is visible even in the weak light of the lantern. He squares his shoulders, lifts his chin, as though readying for a fight. “I love you.”

“In—in a brotherly way?” Bucky croaks. He can’t—he can’t mean—

“No, Buck.” Steve visibly steels himself again. “In a—a queer way.”

He stares at Steve for another long moment, trying to make sense of this new development—but it doesn’t _make_ sense. “No, Steve, I—you aren’t like that, I know you aren’t, you—I’ve seen the way you look at Carter—”

“I am like that, though.” Steve slides off the bed to kneel beside him, placing one hand tentatively on his. “I love you, Bucky, I’m _in_ love with you—”

Bucky pulls out of his grasp. “No—no, Steve, stop it, don’t do this—”

“Do _what_?”

“Pretend!” His heart is going a thousand beats a minute, his throat tight with anguish. He wants to run, run away and never stop, but he’s trapped by Steve’s body next to him, Steve’s imploring blue gaze. “Don’t pretend you feel—like I do, I can’t—I can’t stand it, I don’t—I don’t want your _pity_ —”

“I’m not pretending!” Steve insists, and now he looks angry. “Jesus, Buck, d’you think I’d lie to you about something like _this_?”

“What about Carter, then?” demands Bucky. “You gonna tell me you’re not sweet on her?”

“I... love her, too,” he says, looking both embarrassed and defiant. “It’s complicated.”

Bucky puts his head in his hands. “Jesus wept, Steve. You can’t do anything the easy way, can you?”

“I didn’t do it on _purpose_ ,” says Steve, aggrieved. “It just happened.”

“You’re such a punk,” Bucky moans from between his fingers. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“Aww, you love me.”

“I do.” Bucky raises his head, a hysterical little giggle escaping from his lips. “I _love_ you, Steve.”

Steve grins, like the cat that ate the canary, and leans forward, bracing his hands on Bucky’s thighs. “You love me,” he repeats breathlessly, and—that’s his mouth, lips just barely brushing Bucky’s, his breath warm on Bucky’s face, and—

Bucky presses forward, grabbing the back of Steve’s collar to pull him closer, and Steve kisses—kisses—well, frankly, he kisses like a guy who has no idea what he’s doing, but is damned determined to give it his best shot anyway.

Bucky pulls away, grinning. “Okay, okay, hotshot, Christ. You don’t gotta maul my face like that.”

“Sorry,” Steve says quickly, hunching in on himself. “Sorry, I don’t—I haven’t really—”

“Relax, it’s alright.” All the anxiety of the past couple days—past few months, really—has melted away, leaving him giddy. He knows he’s got to be grinning like a loon. “Just follow my lead, for once in your life. You’ll pick it up.”

And for once in his life, Steve listens, copying the angle of Bucky’s head, letting Bucky explore his mouth with teeth and tongue and a hand in his short blonde hair. Slowly, the tension eases from Steve’s shoulders, and he begins to reciprocate, mimicking Bucky’s movements with increasing confidence. His lips are just as soft as Bucky always thought they would be, and his skin is deliciously hot; Bucky feels like he’s melting, like the two of them could dissolve into each other, pool together into one complete being and never separate again.

They break apart, panting, and Bucky searches Steve’s face for any sign of regret. There is none.

“I can’t believe we coulda been doing this all along,” he pants, and Bucky laughs, exhilarated and relieved.

“We’ll have to make up for lost time, I guess.”

Steve smirks. “Guess so.”

They’re quiet for a few seconds, just breathing each other in, until Bucky gathers up his courage and asks, “Steve... what _about_ Carter? You can’t tell me a woman like her is—is okay with— _this_.” He gestures between them.

“I told her I’m in love with both of you.” He bites his lip, looking a little apprehensive. “I was hoping the two of you might be willing to... share?”

“Mother of _God_ , Stevie.”

“Well,” says Steve, in the reasonable voice that struck terror into the hearts of dozens of teachers throughout their school career, “ _You_ both want me, and _I_ want both of you. I don’t see why we can’t all have what we want, when it doesn’t hurt anybody.”

“That’s not—it doesn’t _work_ that way, Stevie.”

“Why _not?_ ”

“Because—because it just _doesn’t_ , that’s not—people don’t—”

“I don’t _care_ about people, I care about _us_. And anyway, if we’re gonna be sodomites, we might as well be hedonists, too.”

Sometimes, Bucky wonders if Steve actually listens to what’s coming out of his own mouth, or if he just says the craziest thing possible on automatic. “Okay,” he says, reeling a little. “Okay, sure, that might work for _us_ , but what about _her_? Carter’s got _class_ , Steve, she ain’t gonna—she ain’t gonna go for it.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Steve—”

“ _Bucky_ ,” Steve says irritably. “We talked about it already. She—she’s game, if you are. At least, I think she is.”

Bucky sighs. He’s never liked Carter, but he also can’t help admiring her, and now—with Steve still in the circle of his arms, it’s hard to feel any animosity toward her. “Sure, Steve,” he says. “I’ll—I’ll have you any way I can. You oughta know that.”

Steve gives him a searching look. “You sure you’re okay with this?”

“Yeah,” says Bucky, and to his vague surprise, finds it’s the truth. “I... Steve, my whole life, I was so angry that no one saw you, saw how—special you are. And I was so scared that someday, someone would. And when Carter—when I saw the two of you, I knew. I knew I was gonna lose you.”

“You’re not gonna lose me, Buck,” Steve promises. “To the end of the line, remember?”

“Yeah, pal.” There are tears in his eyes, but he knows better than to be ashamed of them. He presses his forehead against Steve’s wool-clad shoulder, and breathes him in. “To the end of the line.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is, once again, from "Jolene" by Dolly Parton.


	3. Epilogue: Beyond Compare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where it gets a little smutty. Only a little, though. :)

_Your beauty is beyond compare_  
_With flaming locks of auburn hair_  
 _With ivory skin and eyes of emerald green_  
 _Your smile is like a breath of spring_  
 _Your voice is soft like summer rain_  
 _And I cannot compete with you, Jolene_

_\--"Jolene", Dolly Parton_

**One Month Later:**

They’re camped out in the middle of nowhere, but Carter is supposed to rendezvous with them tomorrow, and Steve is vibrating halfway out of his skin with excitement and nerves. Bucky doesn’t mind; he’s had Steve all to himself for the past month, and he doesn’t begrudge Carter the next couple of nights. That doesn’t mean he wants to put up with Steve’s fidgeting, though.

“Steve, relax. Fussing ain’t gonna make her come any sooner.”

Steve sighs. “I _know_ , I just... I’m nervous.”

Bucky raises himself on his elbows to get a good look at him. “Is this about sex?”

“ _Bucky_.”

“Well?”

Steve slumps against Bucky’s side. “Maybe a little.”

“You two haven’t--?”

“No! I don’t even know if she _wants_ to.”

Bucky sits up properly, so he can wrap an arm around Steve’s waist from behind. “Stevie. Honey. Doll. That woman wants to _eat you alive._ I really don’t think you need to worry.”

“I just—I don’t want to screw this up.”

Bucky kisses the side of his neck, feeling the little thrill that goes through him every time he does this—that this is allowed, that he can touch. “You’re not gonna screw it up, baby. If she was on board with this—with _us_ , she’s not gonna kick you out just ‘cause you still don’t know a thing about women.”

Steve leans into him, rubbing his cheek against Bucky’s. “I don’t know how you manage to be so comforting and insulting at the same time.”

“Practice.” Bucky kisses him again, hands drifting lower on Steve’s abdomen. “You want me to distract you awhile?”

“Oh, well, if you _insist_...”

There’s a knock on the front pole of their tent, and the two spring apart, Steve rolling all the way across the tent before righting himself. “Uh—come in!”

The flap is pushed aside, and Peggy Carter ducks inside, carefully closing it behind her. “’Evening, boys.”

“Peggy!” Steve blurts, going red as a tomato. “I thought you weren’t getting here ‘til tomorrow.”

“I wasn’t,” she says. “But I—was in rather a hurry, so... I rushed things a bit.”

Steve is looking at her with that soppy, adoring expression that used to break Bucky’s heart. Now that he's seen it directed at himself, he finds it kind of amusing.

“Should I find someplace else to be for the next couple hours?” he asks.

Carter looks at him a consideringly. “No, Sergeant,” she says after a moment. “I don’t think that will be necessary.” She pulls off her boots and plops onto Bucky’s bedroll. “I’ve been thinking. Don’t give me that look, Steven, it’s nothing _bad._ ”

“Well, don’t keep us in suspense, doll,” Bucky drawls. “Steve’s gonna expire of nerves.”

She punches him lightly in the shoulder. “Just because Steve likes you doesn’t mean I have to put up with your lip, Barnes.”

He grins at her, trying to ignore the little voice in the back of his head telling him that his attraction to a mouthy, scrappy little blonde punk might easily translate into affection for this bossy, fierce, and frighteningly competent woman.

“Anyway, I thought it seems—inefficient—for Barnes and me to... take turns with you, as it were.”

Steve blushes again, because of course he does. His voice, though, is admirably steady. “What do you suggest?”

Carter’s smile is wicked. “Well, if we’re going to share, we might as well go all in, don’t you think?” Without waiting for an answer, she turns to Bucky. “What do you say, Barnes?”

_Might as well be hanged for a chicken as an egg_ , Bucky’s mother used to say, although she probably never meant _this_. Between HYDRA and Steve’s transformation, though, this feels almost mundane. He shrugs, casual as he can. “I’m game if you are.”

“Steve?”

Steve grins, with a look in his eye that Bucky recognizes from every scrape they got into as kids. “Are you kidding me? Of course I am.”

“Good,” says Carter. “That’s good, then. Erm.”

They all stare at each other for a long, awkward minute. Eventually, it occurs to Bucky that none of them actually have a clue what they’re doing.

“You gotta come here, Stevie,” he says, and Steve obeys with obvious relief, slotting himself in between the other two.

From there, it’s easier; Steve kisses Carter, then Bucky kisses Steve, and they all sort of collapse into a heap on Bucky’s bedroll.

“Clothes. Off,” says Carter, in between Steve’s breathless kisses, and Bucky is all too happy to help her strip Steve’s shirt off. Steve, meanwhile, makes short work of Carter’s buttons, but is clearly at a loss when confronted by her brassiere.

“There’s hooks in the back,” Bucky tells him, and Carter actually laughs, raising herself on one elbow to watch them.

“Show him, Barnes,” she says, and so Bucky, flushing despite his best efforts, pulls her gently into his arms and shows Steve how to reach around her to unfasten the little row of hooks.

All three of them get a little distracted after that, and it’s awhile before Carter manages to redirect Steve’s hands to her belt; she’s wearing trousers, as she usually does when they’re in the field.

Bucky begins unbuttoning his own shirt, but is stopped by a cool hand on his wrist.

“Let me,” says Carter, and Bucky lets his hands fall away, startled and pleased by her attention. Her fingers are cold when she removes his shirt, but he doesn’t mind, and he refuses to be embarrassed at his thinness, or the scars littering his body. It’s part of the price of war, and if there’s one thing all three of them ought to understand, it’s that.

Sure enough, Carter doesn’t seem either surprised or daunted by what she sees when she’s stripped him bare; on the contrary, her eyes darken, and she licks her lips in a way that suggests a lioness eyeing a wounded gazelle.

“Steve,” she says, smirking, “I’m beginning to think you do have some taste, after all.”

Steve, who has managed to get both himself and Carter completely naked while she was busy with Bucky, grins and pulls Bucky into a kiss. “I know.”

They take their time, learning each other’s bodies. At first, Bucky is hesitant to initiate anything with Carter, preferring to keep Steve between them; but eventually, when Steve’s mouth is otherwise occupied, Bucky leans across him, and Carter meets him halfway.

The kiss is far sweeter than he expected, both of them gentle and nearly cautious, keeping their movements languid even as Carter pants and moans under Steve’s attentions. Everything is warm and soft and liquid, his hand buried in her hair and Steve’s fingers gripping his thigh; he’s suspended between the two of them, experiencing their pleasure as well as his own, and for once he feels like he fits comfortably inside his own skin. When he pulls back, he finds Steve watching him with dark eyes, and can’t help but bend down to him, biting back a moan as he tastes Carter on Steve’s tongue.

After that, he finds himself caressing and kissing whomever is closest, the three of them doing their best to help each other fall apart with hands and mouths and whispered encouragements, bodies moving in slick harmony in the dull lamplight.

 

When they are all sated and worn out, and Steve and Carter have fallen asleep beneath the scratchy wool blankets, Bucky leans back against the balled-up shirts he’s using as a pillow and lights a cigarette. He feels warm and comfortable, as though sex has worn away the sandpaper-feeling that usually fills him with anxious energy.

The tent is completely dark now, the lamp extinguished hours ago, but he can still see the shapes of his companions beside him: Steve, facing him with one arm curled around his head, the other flung over Carter’s waist, and Carter on her back, one white hand just barely touching Steve’s wrist. He inspects himself for any sign of jealousy, but finds none: in a few minutes, he’ll snuggle down beside them, knowing he’s wanted, that he’s _loved_ , just as much as either of them.

“Barnes,” Carter whispers, and he turns his head to look at her, startled out of his reflections.

“Pass me that fag, would you?”

He blinks, smiles, and hands her the cigarette. She braces her free hand on his thigh to push herself up, then leans back against his chest, exhaling a cloud of smoke before she hands the cigarette back.

“I think I see it now,” she says thoughtfully.

“What?”

“What he sees in you.” She turns toward him a little more, and he automatically puts his arm around her. “I have to admit, my first impression was not… ideal.”

He groans, but softly, so as not to wake Steve. “Oh God, that night at the pub. I was such an asshole.”

“You really were,” she says, amused, “but with the benefit of hindsight, I can understand why.”

 “Well, thanks for being so understanding. You’re—” His brain catches up with his mouth, and he stops abruptly, embarrassed.

“I’m what?”

He can feel himself blushing, and blesses the dark for hiding it. “You’re one hell of a woman, Carter, that’s all.”

Her laughter barely makes a sound, but he can feel the motion of it, with her tucked up so close against his chest. “Thank you, Barnes. Incidentally, you may call me Peggy, if you wish. I believe we’ve reached that point.”

“Okay, then, Peggy.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late.” He feels her laugh again, and takes a thoughtful drag of his cigarette. “You might as well call me Bucky, then.”

“That’s such a ridiculous name for a grown man.”

“Well, we already got way too many Jameses around here,” he says with a shrug. “Anyway, I like it.”

She pats his cheek. “You’re sweet. I never would have guessed.”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t. I expect your men already know, anyway.”

“Everyone to the moon and back knows Bucky’s a fuckin’ soft touch,” Steve mumbles unexpectedly. “Jus’ give ‘im a sob story and he’ll be… tryna wrap you up in blankets and… beatin’ up whoever hurt you.”

“That’s only when it’s you, idiot,” says Bucky fondly.

“Nuh uh. That girl that time, remember? You let her stay on our couch?”

“Go back to sleep, Steve.”

“I would, if you two’d stop _talking._ ”

Bucky sighs, long suffering, and stubs out his cigarette. “Alright, alright, jeez. Wouldn’t want to interrupt your beauty’s sleep.”

“An’ don’t you forget it,” Steve slurs, already mostly asleep again.

He scooches closer, however, so he can wind his arm around both Peggy and Bucky. Peggy turns and tucks her head under Steve’s chin, and Bucky curves himself around her back, throwing his leg over them both.

None of them knows what tomorrow will bring, and Bucky’s fine with that. He doesn’t _want_ to know what else this war has in store for them. Tonight, it’s enough to be wrapped up in these two extraordinary people, the man he loves and the woman who, against all odds, has chosen to throw in with them. Tonight, he is content.


End file.
